


The Military Tattoo, a grand day out for all the family

by AAPessimal



Category: Discworld
Genre: Alternate Universe - Military, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-23
Updated: 2013-04-23
Packaged: 2017-12-09 07:03:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/771383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AAPessimal/pseuds/AAPessimal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The rich pageantry of a military parade is always spectacular to watch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Military Tattoo, a grand day out for all the family

* * *

 

The Ankh-Morpork Military Tattoo was coming to an end. Lord Vetinari had permitted a muster of the Regiments and militias, for several reasons:

i) It cost the City Treasury nothing, as all the units on parade were raised by private subscription;

ii) It made a nice day out for all the family, which was good for public morale, and enabled all the greater and lesser Dibblers to make a (taxable) profit on concessions of the flags, t-shirts and sausage-inna-bun kinds;

iii) The more thoughtful of the foreign ambassadors, who had been granted prime viewing seats, could see that if all else failed, Ankh-Morpork could defend itself by conventional means;

iv) It reminded the more affluent Guilds that an oft-forgotten clause in every Guild charter was to provide - and pay for - men in times of trouble who would make up Trained Companies to augment the city defences;

v) It kept the older and prouder Regiments raised by people like Lord Rust and Lord Selachii usefully busy perfecting their foot-drill, bulling boots, blancoing webbing, Brasso'ing capbadges, and, as Vimes put it, too busy with useless competitive bullshit to make a nuisance of themselves in any other way.

And, most importantly, with the assistance of Sir Samuel Vimes, Duke of Ankh, it served as a reminder to those older Regiments raised and paid by the more noble families that they were no longer the only soldiers in town. If a Rust or a Venturi or a Selachii used his Regiments to make a move for the Palace, there were now others, loyal to the City, who would block them.

Taking the salute on the podium, Vetinari also noted the processional route on both sides had been lined with Watchmen, one every five yards: this had been Vimes' personal display of strength to the old order, and would have been unthinkable some years ago. This, too, was for the good, and he nodded at Vimes' acumen in suggesting the annual Tattoo be revived. (Although he suspected Carrot was ultimately behind it).

Reviving the clause that insisted the various Guilds raise Trained Companies, or even Regiments in the case of the larger groups, had been beneficial, Vetinari considered. The Pony Brothers had paved the way, suggesting the Guild of Artificers serve in wartime as a Corps of Royal Engineers. In fact, adapting from civil to military engineering had been a successful exercise for them. Their genius had come to fruition in the brand-new arm, the Corps of Horse Artillery, which could deploy weapons derived from, and a vast improvement on, the Agatean "Barking Dogs".  **(2)**  Under Vetinari's exclusive command and officered by completely reliable and competent men, the new Artillery regiments served as a useful deterrent to potential enemies both without and within. The Artificers had also "acquired" and improved upon such potentially war-winning weapons as the Dwarfish flame-thrower devices, which it argued had a role to play in reducing enemy fortifications and strongholds to charred ash. As well as more conventional siege engines and the usual run of military engineering devices, Vetinari had taken good care to ensure the existence of such things was an open secret to both foreign military atttaches and to the cabal of old Lords.

Other Guilds had rallied to the flag: the Guild of Assassins had suggested its unique skills made it the natural home of Special Forces, for those tricky or delicate tasks. Even the Thieves' Guild, keen to stay on side, had suggested its particular craft skills were suited to covert patrolling and recconaissance.

And, of course, these days Ankh-Morpork, if threatened, could call on three full militia regiments of loyal Dwarves, who came with their own axes (a great saving) and two of trolls, although admittedly, they needed a large "L" and a large "R" painted on the appropriate foot (and matching knuckle). These militias needed no reminding that the Rusts, deWordes, Selachiis and Venturis had repeatedly, firmly, and loudly expressed opinions about "undesirables", "lesser races" "being swamped by immigrants!" and "racial purity".

Vetinari had no fear of there being a Troll Patrician any time soon, and anyway, training exercises for the Troll regiments were a useful way for the species to work out its natural tendency to over-physical body language, on training grounds a long way away from the City.

Some had not been so great a success: the Clowns' Battalion, although a revival of an old and proud tradition, had counter-pratfalled its way down the route, to polite applause and uncertain cheering. Captain Jack Clapstick's  _sloshi_ -trained martial clowns, by contrast, had been just scary, and had reduced many small children to tears. And their marching band had been... well, people made allowances.

And while it was acknowledged that Seamstresses had a rear-echelon role to play all of their very own  **(1),**  nobody was sure what role the Beggars' Guild would play in wartime.  _Biological warfare, probably,_ Vimes thought, uncharitably.

Even the Sanitary Army, the Omnian Legion of Salvation, had marched. Their band was acknowledged as the best there was, and the Salvation Legion, as the spiritual descendent of the horribly beweaponed army that had in pre-Brutha times spread the Word at spearpoint, certainly knew how to march and put up a show. It was generally acknowledged that if anyone could make a tambourine and a collection box into a lethal weapon of war, it was the Sanitary Army.  **(3)**

And then there had been.....

"Vimes, what is THAT?" Vetinari had asked.

Thirty or forty miscellaneous Zombies and Skeletal Warriors , in a fetching variety of grey, ash-white and green skin colours, proudly marched as an independent company.

Vimes squinted to make out the motto on the flag, underneath the skull motif.

"Looks like.... it reads " _DEATH_ _ **AND**_ _GLORY!_   _WHY CHOOSE WHEN YOU CAN HAVE BOTH?",_  sir!"

Captain Reg Shoe took the salute. Vimes winced as his hand partially fell off.

"Got it now, sir. Special Undead Services. Sir!"

* * *

**(1)**  Uniform details, cap-badge and battle honours had yet to be worked out in this case.

**(2)**  See the concluding chapters of my novella, _**The Graduation Class**_ , (available at FFN) for further information on the Horse Artillery.

**(3)** Bad news travels fast. Both licenced and unlicenced Thieves who made the mistake of viewing Salvation Legion girls as easy targets, as they walked unafraid between pubs late at night selling  ** _Battle Cry!_  **and the  _ **Unadorned Truth**_ , soon learned the concussive power of a collection box full of small coin swung with accurate and corrective force. And a tambourine with a very sturdy wooden frame is no joke either, especially if the Legionnaire has thought to put a sharp edge on some of the rattly bits. Some of those old Divine Legion ways are hard to give up and linger on still.  Lady Assassins, an occupational group whom it is normally hard to impress, had watched the Legion in action  and taken instructive notes. 


End file.
